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« on: April 20, 2025, 07:39:20 am »Match 2 - Build-Up
Madison Beer 34C vs Genevieve Hannelius 34C
Madison Beer Badass Barbies vs. Genevieve Hannelius The Wannabees
Early Las Vegas Odds:
Madison Beer: -130 Favorite
Genevieve Hannelius: +110 Underdog
Fighter Breakdown:
Madison Beer – “Pop Princess Punisher”
Madison Beer has never been one to back down from a spotlight—or a scrap. After watching Ariel dominate Cree in the opening bout, Madison is determined to keep the momentum rolling for the Barbies and Wicked Queens alliance. With perfectly toned curves and a flair for the dramatic, Madison brings both fashion and fury into the ring.
She's been spotted training with Kylie Jenner and Sydney Sweeney at “The Dollhouse,” hammering padded torsos with chest sways and bouncing drills. Her specialty? “Cup Crushes”—a vicious technique where she rams forward with her upper torso in repeated timed bursts.
On Social Media:
“I’ve got the same size rack as her. The difference is… mine are just better. Better shape, better mass, better nipples. G, you’re going DOWN.”
(Captioned under a slow-motion video of Madison leaning out a car window hr heaving bosom hanging out.)
Genevieve Hannelius – “The Sweetheart Switchblade”
After watching her teammate get crushed in Bout #1, G is taking this personally. She’s been silent on social media for most of the week—until today, when she posted a single picture:
Her back to the camera, bra unclasped, and a caption:
“Maddy's going to wish that Ashley Benson was beating her ass again after she goes breast to breast with me.”
(Captioned under a video of clearly agitated Genevieve in a white halter top counting out why she is going to smash Madison)
G has been training in a mirrored studio doing synchronized upper body strikes while working on breath control and grip techniques. Sources say she’s been focusing on “X press”—a rarely seen move used to pin the opponents nipples.
The Trash Talk: It’s Personal Now
After Ariel’s come from behind performance, the Badass Barbies and Wicked Queens haven’t let up on the trash talk—especially Madison.
On IG Live, Madison grinned at the camera while wearing a pink sports bra, her chest glistening from sweat:
“Aril was just the appetizer. G’s the main course. And guess what? I eat sweethearts like her for breakfast.”
In response, G posted a rare clip of her training: silent, eyes focused, as she bounced rapidly on her toes, chest flexing with precision.
Overlay text: “Let’s see if you’re still smirking when you’re gasping under this perfect pair of C-cups. These are all real, t!ts. No plastic like Madison.”
Even Kylie Jenner jumped into the fray again:
“One Wannaloser down. Madison’s about to make it two. The Wannabees can run their mouths all day—but that can’t save them from getting smothered.”
Vegas Takes Notice
This fight is way closer than the first. With both fighters sporting matching34C busts and a similar age and frame, the line is tight. Still, Madison’s reputation and Barbie-brand aura give her a slight edge.
Updated Vegas Odds:
This bout is the closest in the bracket—a true C-cup clash where there’s no clear size advantage. But don’t be fooled by the symmetry. These women are fighting for pride, position, and the future of their stables.
Round 1 – Nipple Combat
The room is cool but electric, the canvas illuminated by a single overhead spotlight. Two figures stand at opposite corners of the breast-to-breast arena: Madison Beer, dripping with icy confidence, her nipples diamond-hard against her tanned, high-sitting C-cups; and Genevieve Hannelius, leaner, paler, her breasts glistening from a fresh coat of chilled mist. Her nipples stand out like twin spears, pink and sharp.
The ref steps between them and declares.
“This is Round 1. Nipple combat only. No hands, no punches. Just tit to tit… and nipple to nipple.”
The bell rings.
They step forward, firm bare chests swaying leading the way like ancient warriors brandishing spears. There’s no hesitation—only impact.
PLAP!
Their nipples collide dead center. A frozen silence ripples through the crowd as both women grunt, shifting hips for better pressure. They lean in, breasts flattened in a perfect mirror, nipples locked in a fierce poke-and-press.
Genevieve lets out a soft hiss. Madison smirks.
“Already squeaking? Maybe I’ll teach you how to sing.”</blockquote> </blockquote> But Gen snarls back, eyes locked on Madison’s chest.
“I’m just warming up, you plastic piece of sh!t Barbie.”</blockquote> </blockquote> Suddenly, Genevieve twists her torso slightly, angling her left nipple for a rake across Madison’s exposed right areola. Madison flinches as the pink spear drags across sensitive skin.
Ohh my, that one stung, huh?” Gen grins, following up with another sharp rake. “Better moisturize those C-cups.”
Madison snarls and presses forward full-force, both nipples slamming into Gen’s with a meaty thock. The echo draws gasps from the crowd.
“You want pain?” Madison growls. “Let’s dig in.”</blockquote> </blockquote> Now Madison takes control. Her nipples stab again and again, poking like hardened drills, peppering Gen’s pale targets with rapid-fire stabs. Gen stumbles back, gritting her teeth, breasts red and inflamed already.
“Don’t run, little Wannaloser,” Madison taunts, chest bouncing forward. “You’re supposed to be fighting, not flinching.”
Genevieve steadies herself, breathing heavily. Madison’s rhythm is relentless—each press feels like glass scraping skin. She tries to angle for a nipple trap, attempting a pin attempt by using her firm breast base to push Gen’s left nipple downward.
“Five seconds,” the ref says, watching closely.
One. Two—
Genevieve twists her upper body hard, breaking the pin with a gasp and a defiant shove of her chest.
“You’re not flattening these nips yet, ****.”</blockquote> </blockquote> Both women step back, chest to chest again, sweat beginning to glisten across their cleavage.
Then—Genevieve lowers her chin and lunges.
With a whip-like twist of her shoulders, she slashes her right nipple across both of Madison’s, a double nipple rake that causes Madison’s breath to catch audibly.
“You feel that?” Gen smirks, her voice a sultry growl. “That’s the difference between posing… and piercing.
Madison tries to rally with a direct nipple stab, but Gen absorbs the blow and counters with a series of circular rubs—grinding her hardened tips against Madison’s in tight, sharp spirals.
Madison gasps. Her left nipple is starting to pinken and swell and the throbbing pain shoots through her spine.
“Yours feel like limp wet noodles,” Genevieve whispers, leaning close enough to let her breath fog over Madison’s neck. “Maybe all that ice was just for show.
“You wish,” Madison hisses through clenched teeth. “Your little pencil erasers can’t dent me.”</blockquote> </blockquote> “No?” Gen rasps. “Let’s see if they can invert you.”
Genevieve presses in tight, pushing her nipples directly into Madison’s, angling upward, applying calculated pressure—nipples against nipples, dead center. Madison’s eyes widen as her right tip begins to retreat, flattening slightly under Gen’s unrelenting assault.
“Hold… HOLD…” the ref commands, checking the form. Gen’s nipples are like steel spikes, her technique laser-focused.
Madison growls, summoning everything. With a primal grunt, she bucks her chest upward, using the full firmness of her breasts to dislodge the inversion attempt.
“You wanna push my nips in?” Madison snarls, chest heaving. “I’ll push yours through your f$cking spine.”
Now it’s rage and muscle. Madison presses back with brutal efficiency. Her nipples stab—deep and punishing—like she’s fencing with blades. Genevieve’s tight frame wobbles with each hit. Her nipples are still sharp—but they’re starting to tremble, starting to yield to Madison's unrelenting pressure.
Madison leans in, her voice cold and low:
“I’m not here to edge out a win, sweetheart. I’m here to break you.”</blockquote> </blockquote> She goes for a double stab—both nipples pressing into Gen’s at once, in a brutal X-motion. Genevieve cries out, her legs buckling.
Genevieve tries to back off, but Madison lunges forward bullying the young Wannabee into the ropes. She drops her torso half an inch, trapping both of Genevieve’s nipples beneath her own, flattening them to the breastbone with expert leverage.
One… Two… Three… Four…
Genevieve twists, groaning, but Madison holds steady, face flushed with effort, shoulders leaning heavy.
FIV. . .
The refs hand almost comes back down but Gen squirms her way out of the pin.
“No Pin! No Pin!”
Kylie and Natalie are furious.
“Go back to kindergarten and learn how to f$cking count!” Screams Natalie.
Genevieve stumbles back her nipples bright red and visibly shaking. Madison’s are flushed too—but still standing proud and stiff.
She walks a slow circle around Gen, nipples bobbing with smug purpose.
Genevieve’s knees trembled beneath her. Sweat poured down her flushed face, warm droplets dripping on her cleavage. Her chest heaved with each breath, her body coated in the physical toll of the brutal war she and Madison had been waging for what felt like an eternity. But her eyes—though bloodshot and rimmed with strain—still burned with fire. Refusal. Rage.
Across from her, Madison stood tall and steady, chest rising slowly, her expression confident, even taunting. Her lips curled into a crooked smile as she tilted her head slightly.
“You done yet?” Madison asked coolly, voice low and cutting. “Or do you want me to humiliate you one more time?”
Genevieve’s nostrils flared. Her pride, her pain, her fury—all twisted into a raw guttural scream as she launched herself forward again, teeth gritted, body trembling but determined. The crowd gasped as the two women collided with a loud damp splat, bodies slamming together, sweat flying off their glistening skin in a spray of effort.
Their chests clashed with a thunderous slap, skin-on-skin contact echoing through the arena like a shot. It was pure, focused aggression now—no fancy moves, no hesitation. Nipples locked again, harder, sharper, and angrier than before. They moved with a terrifying precision, striking with pinpoint accuracy, rubbing with evil intent each clash drawing audible groans from both women.
Genevieve clenched her jaw, ignoring the burning pain surging through her chest. Each impact now made her feel like her entire torso was splintering. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Her pride screamed louder than the pain.
Madison grunted as the battle raged on, but she was relentless. Her superior conditioning and discipline began to show now. While Genevieve’s strikes became more desperate and wild, Madison’s were measured, brutal, merciless. She didn’t just meet Genevieve’s attacks—she countered them with calm, crushing control.
Step by step, Madison began to bully forward. With each brutal collision, Genevieve was forced backward. Inch by inch. Her feet scraped the canvas, struggling to hold ground, but it was no use.
Thud.
Another stab. Another groan.
Smack.
Genevieve’s shoulders brushed the ropes.
Wack.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as Madison drove in again, this time twisting just enough to angle her chest and deliver a sharp poking rake that made Genevieve moan.
The crowd rose as one, the arena holding its collective breath.
Madison’s eyes locked on her opponent, calculating, almost surgical now. She saw the weakness. Smelled the collapse. She stepped in close—too close for Genevieve to regain distance—and began driving forward in methodical, powerful, punishing rakes.
Each poke forced Genevieve’s back to arch further into the ropes, her body trapped in a helpless half-bend. Madison’s chest bore down mercilessly, her nipples like daggers pushing Genevieve’s aside, dominating the space and pushing hers painfully out of alignment.
Genevieve gasped.
Then whimpered.
Her arms shook at her sides, hands curled into fists but useless. There was nothing to do now but endure… or surrender.
“I can keep this up all night,” Madison hissed. “But I can see that you're weak little nips are about done.”
A shudder passed through Genevieve’s body. Her knees wobbled. Her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. But her eyes—those proud, seething eyes—were filling with tears.
Another side to side rake.
Another poke.
An even louder whimper.
“Give. It. Up.”
Madison’s words were low, each one delivered with a nipple to nipple poke that shook Genevieve to her core. Her nipples—flattened, pushed sideways, overwhelmed—burned like they were on fire.
Her breath hitched. Her chest trembled. Her nipples throbbed from the relentless pressure, crushed beneath Madison’s iron will. She could feel them being bent and twisted, flattened and bullied against her will until every nerve screamed. And Madison wasn’t relenting. Not for one second.
“I can keep this up all night,” Madison sneered, her voice low and vicious, a predator enjoying the helpless shudders beneath her. “But I can see your weak nips are about done.”
Genevieve’s lips parted in a gasp, but no words came. Just the softest of whimpers.
The crowd sensed it—so did Madison. The end was coming. Genevieve’s arms hung at her sides, fists clenched but useless. She was trapped in this violent ballet of pain, dominance, and humiliation. She wasn’t just being beaten—she was being dismantled piece by piece by a clearly better rack.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Her knees trembled.
But somewhere deep inside her, something snapped—not in surrender, but in defiance.
No!
Genevieve's breath drew ragged and furious. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t some broken toy to be discarded. She was fire. Rage. Pride. And Madison had just made the mistake of thinking she’d won too early.
With a guttural scream that pierced the tension like lightning, Genevieve lunged forward.
Her first swing came wild, reckless, but it connected. Madison’s head jerked to the side from the slap. Shock registered in her eyes.
Another swing scraped across Madison’s chest, sending her backward until she was resting on her back foot.
“WHAT THE—” Madison began, but Genevieve didn’t let her finish.
Left poke. Right jab. Another left poke.
Madison staggered. Her balance faltered.
The crowd erupted.
Genevieve was alive and she was furious.
Her strikes weren’t clean, weren’t pretty—but they were savage. They raked across Madison’s chest and sides, leaving red trails that bloomed across her skin. With each press, Genevieve reclaimed territory, forcing Madison backward, backpedaling like a boxer caught flat-footed.
Madison tried to regroup, to bring her own pressure back to bear, but Genevieve was relentless now.
"You thought I’d fold?" Genevieve hissed, landing a spinning back rake that knocked Madison into the ropes. “You thought this was over?”
Madison gasped, her skin turning a deep, angry red where Genevieve’s strikes had landed. She tried to raise her arms—but there was no blocking allowed. And Genevieve wasn’t letting up.
With one final shout, Genevieve drove Madison into the corner, chest-first. The audience roared.
And then—then—came the moment that would be whispered about for years to come.
Genevieve stepped in close.
Her chest pressed flush to Madison’s like some ancient feminine weapon forged in fire and fury, Genevieve lowered her torso just slightly… and dropped her left nipple on top of Madison’s right.
Madison’s eyes blew wide. “Nnnnnngh—!”
But Genevieve wasn’t done.
Keeping the pressure steady, she began to rotate her torso—left, then right, slowly, cruelly, dragging the hardened bud across Madison’s sensitive nipple like it was a grinding stone. The friction was devastating. Madison’s mouth opened in a silent scream, her hands fluttering at her sides, helpless.
And then—the kill move.
Genevieve twisted her torso the other way, and now brought her right nipple under Madison’s left, locking her opponent into a devastating criss-cross double nipple press—a move so rare, so precise, only a handful of women on Earth could pull it off. It required control. Precision. Sadistic patience.
Madison wailed. Her body shook.
She knew. She knew.
“Don’t you dare pass out,” Genevieve hissed into her ear. “I want you to feel this.”
With each breath, Genevieve leaned in harder, her nipples forming a brutal X, applying torque, pushing Madison’s left nipple up while her right one was being driven down. It was too much. Too much for any woman to endure. Madison’s chest was being warped. Her pride, pulverized. Her nerves lit up like fire.
Genevieve rotated her hips slightly—just enough to shift the alignment and increase the twist.
“Ahhh! S-Stop!” Madison sobbed.
“No!,” Genevieve snarled, pressing even closer. “You don’t get to cry your way out of this.”
The crowd was on its feet now. Every woman in the room stared, slack-jawed, in awe—and horror. No one had ever seen anything like it. Genevieve's nipples were a deadly assault weapon. Her will, an inferno. And Madison—once the predator—was now the helpless prey.
Her head rolled back against the turnbuckle. Her lips quivered. Her legs trembled.
“I c-can’t—” she whimpered.
But Genevieve didn’t let up.
Another twist.
Another blood curdling scream.
And then—finally—the dam broke.
Madison screamed, the words tearing out of her as her body crumpled in the corner.
“OH GOD! MAKE HER STOP! MAKE HER ST—AAAAAHHH!”
Her knees gave out. Her arms flailed. The referee rushed in, arms waving, but Genevieve held her position for one final, dominant second before stepping back.
Madison collapsed to the mat, curling into herself, hands cupping her aching breasts like they were broken glass.
Genevieve didn’t gloat. Didn’t pose.
She just looked down at her fallen opponent, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on her chest, nipples still hard and flushed from battle.
“You picked the wrong girl to mess with,” she muttered.
And with that, she turned and walked away—head high, hips swaying, leaving behind the groaning ruin of the woman who thought she’d won.
The phoenix had risen.
And she'd scorched her enemy to ash.
The ref rushed in to confirm the result, lifting Genevieve’s arm as the victor.
Madison, supported now by her team, slumped into her stool, trembling and defeated, her head bowed not from shame, her once stiff nipples now dropping on her chest, the left drooping down while the right lay flat on it's side. She had the round in hr hands but in the end was completely dominated by Genevieve.
There was no shame in her performance. But there was no doubt about the winner either.
Round 1 belonged to Genevieve. And she’d earned it one stab, one rake, one poke, one stab at a time.
WINNER: GENEVIEVE HANNEIUS – VERBALL SUBMISSION
ROUND 2:
The crowd roars in anticipation as the fighters rise for Round 2, their torsos shining under the arena lights. Both girls are still ****—Genevieve's full, round breasts bouncing confidently with every step, while Madison’s chest carries the bruises and swelling from Round 1. But her eyes…
Her eyes burn.
DING DING!
Madison doesn’t wait. She storms forward, smug and sure, leading with her chest.
WHAM!
Her breasts slam into Genevieve’s like twin wrecking balls. The crack echoes through the arena.
Genevieve stumbles back a step, gasping—but doesn’t fall.
Madison growls and lashes side-to-side, swinging her breasts back and forth like blunt weapons.
SMACK—CRACK—WHACK!
Left, right, left. Her heavier **** rock Genevieve’s chest, making the smaller girl twist and recoil. The crowd oohs at every hit. Gen’s breasts are taking punishment—skin rippling, flesh jolting—but she stays on her feet.
“Thought I was done after you're tricky little move,” Madison sneers, strutting forward. “I’m just warming up.”
She jumps, lifting her chest high—then arcs them in a tight circle.
DROP!
Her breasts crash down from above like twin meteors, hammering Gen’s chest.
Genevieve’s legs buckle. She groans, chest burning, but again she doesn’t go down. She stumbles back, regaining her breath. Madison steps forward, cocky, winding up for another full-body smash—
But Genevieve sidesteps. And strikes.
BOOM!
She launches a perfect breast uppercut, her right tit slamming upward underneath Madison’s left.
Madison gasps—the underside is ultra-sensitive—and her breast bounces up and brushes into her chin.
“You wanna see pain?” Genevieve snaps, surging forward.
WHAM! WHAM!
She launches double uppercuts, targeting both undersides. Madison’s chest lifts violently under the impact. She reels back, disoriented, arms flailing.
Genevieve drives her hips, shoulders whipping—
SWING. FWUP. WHAP.
Breasts whipping left to right, hitting Madison’s pair like twin hammers.
THWACK. THWACK.
Madison's **** are sloshing, losing shape, folding under the repeated impacts.
The crowd is on their feet.
Madison tries to reset, growling, and lunges forward with another heavy breast smash—
BAM!
A savage breast jab, shoulder-driven, right into Genevieve's sternum.
The Wannabee gasps, body jolting from the shock.
Another jab.
Then another.
And another!
JAB. JAB. JAB.
Each hit is quicker than the last, driving Genevieve backward step by step, her chest reddening, swelling visibly. Her hands clench at her sides, teeth grinding.
“Where's that smug ass grin you had a minute ago,” Madison growls, breathing heavy.
“Where did it go, huh?!”
Gen roars and lunges again with a full-body smash—
But Maddy’s ready.
She twists her torso mid-impact and lets her left breast crash diagonally into Genevieve’s right, folding it hard, twisting the tit to the side.
Genevieve howls, falling back again, her chest heaving, wobbling, the swelling unmistakable now.
Madison closes one calculated step at a time closing in like a predator.
She jumps, brings both breasts high, and lets them fall.
POWER DROP. FLATTEN.
They slam down onto Genevieve’s battered chest.
Genevieve stumbles, glassy-eyed. Her legs wobble and her knees smash into each other.
The Brunette Barbie doesn’t stop. She bends her knees and dips low.
Uppercut. She dips again--Uppercut. Jab. Side swing. Jab. Drop.
Genevieve’s breasts are now deep red, losing their firmness. They hang heavier, less responsive, bouncing like they’ve been brutalized.
Madison stares her faltering opponent down, panting, but defiant. “Quit, ****. You’re done.”
Genevieve blinks, sweat pouring off her, lips parted— sweat dripping between her bruised and battered cleavage.
Then Maddy pulls her arms back and lashes her chest forward one last time.
FULL CONTACT BREAST SMASH.
WHAM.
KNOCKDOWN.
Genevieve crashes to the mat on her back, her **** splayed and crushed beneath her, unmoving for several seconds. The crowd erupts.
The ref leans in—
Gen moans softly, eyes fluttering. Her hand twitches. But no response.
The ref waves his arms.
TKO — MADISON BEER WINS ROUND 2!
Madison bends forward resting hr hands on her knees, chest battered but still firm intact, defiant, victorious. Her fists raised high, nipples flushed but proud, she screams in triumph as Genevieve rolls to her side, cupping her ruined chest, humiliated and stunned.
The victorious brunette leans down and whispers through a tired grin:
“What happened to your ****? Too soft for war.”
The Match is now tied 1–1 and Round 3 promises to be hell.
ROUND 3 — BEAR HUG
The crowd was on fire as the lights pulsed above the ring. The mat was stained with sweat, and the humid air shimmered with the heat of battle. Two **** warriors stood at the center, their torsos red and welted, their faces flushed with adrenaline, pain, and fury.
Madison Beer looked like a woman reborn. She’d been dismantled in Round 1—humiliated by Gen’s weaponized nipples, her own 34Cs twisted, stabbed, and finally crushed into an X press submission. But she had bounced back in Round 2 with the fury of a woman possessed, smashing Genevieve's once-dominant 34Cs into soft, throbbing targets with a late-round comeback that flipped the momentum and dropped Genevieve on her back.
Gen, on the other hand, looked vulnerable. The confidence she’d carried during the nipple-to-nipple clash was gone—shattered by a brutal flurry of strikes from Madison's solid rack. The onslaught had been fast, merciless. Maddy's breasts were a blur of motion, pounding Madison’s chest until it felt like raw pulp. Then the KO, a power shot that lifted Genevieve off her feet.
Outside the ropes, Jayden leaned over, whispering urgently in her ear, trying to keep her grounded. But Genevieve’s mind was drifting—wishing she were anywhere else, anywhere but trapped in this ring with Madison Beer.
Jayden’s tone shifted, snapping sharp.
“Suck it up, Gen. You can take her. Just don’t let her go off on you again. Counter. Bully her. Push her around. You’ve got this. Okay?”
Gen nodded, slow but obedient, and forced herself upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her. Her shoulders sagged. And when she glanced across the ring, her heart dropped.
Madison looked untouched—bouncing on the balls of her feet, radiating energy. Her breasts still sat high and firm, barely moving with each bounce, taunting with their defiance of gravity.
Maddy’s head bobbed with smug confidence as she walked Genevieve down, jutting her chest forward, letting the tips of her breasts lightly jab into Genevieve’s. The contact was slight—but the effect was devastating. Gen’s own breasts gave way instantly, flattening back under the firmer press.
Madison smirked, lips curling as she licked them slowly.
The ref stepped in, arm between them, edging them closer until their chests were fully aligned, breast-to-breast, perfectly level.
Neither backed down.
They wrapped their arms around each other, slow and tight. Flesh pressed against flesh. Grip tightened.
Round three was about to begin—and it was going to be war.
Now they stood face-to-face. Breast-to-breast.
Evenly matched in height, their chests brushed as they squared up, but everyone could see the subtle edge in size belonged to Madison despite both having 34C's. Still, the difference felt irrelevant. It was about who had more left, who could endure more pain, and who had the fire to squeeze the life out of the other.
The ref raised a hand.
“Final Round,” she called. “No strikes. No slaps. Full contact, bear hug only. First to submit or release loses. Lock in Ladies!”
Madison surged forward, teeth clenched, wrapping her arms tight around Genevieve’s waist. Genevieve grunted and mirrored the motion, digging her fingertips into Madison’s slick back and squeezing with everything she had.
Their breasts mashed together, the contact instantly electric and painful. Nipple met nipple. Flesh flattened. The crowd gasped as both girls winced—but neither pulled back.
“Fffff—” Madison hissed. “Your bony **** are gonna fold first.”
Genevieve growled. “We’ll see who folds, Barbie.”
They started to twist, shoulder to shoulder, each trying to gain leverage. Madison’s slightly larger, rounder breasts made the initial impact harder. She leaned forward, driving her weight into G, forcing her smaller chest to bend around the force.
Genevieve buckled for half a second—but then shifted her feet and adjusted, flexing her core, lifting just enough to absorb Madison’s crush.
“Come on,” Genevieve snarled. “Crush me then.”
Madison responded with a brutal shift—lifting Genevieve an inch off the mat with a grunt of effort. The bear hug intensified. Their breasts strained, compressed, smushed between their bodies as the pressure mounted.
But Genevieve’s legs clamped around Madison’s, locking her down and halting the lift.
Both girls were gritting their teeth now. Their faces were inches apart. Beads of sweat ran down their cheeks and onto their bare shoulders.
Madison’s arms were shaking, her ribs pressing in tighter. Her orbs were slightly flattened—but still fighting. Genevieve’s rack was compressed deeply, mashed like dough against Madison’s, but they weren’t quitting.
A collective roar erupted as they started to pivot again, their sweat-slick bodies grinding as they looked for a new angle.
Madison leaned in close, whispering through clenched teeth.
“Yours feel like underooked pancakes.”
Genevieve replied by arching her back, rolling her shoulders, and giving a forward press that drove her left breast directly into Madison’s right—nipple to nipple. Madison winced, and the crowd saw her foot slide back an inch.
“You flinched,” Genevieve said.
“No I didn’t.”
“You’re cracking.”
Madison dug deeper. She twisted, pushing her arms higher, locking her fingers behind G’s upper back and pressing her 34Cs inward with new fury. The soft flesh of her chest mushroomed, enveloping G’s breasts. It looked like a classic crush attempt.
But Genevieve snarled and rolled her shoulders up and in, like a slow grinding dance. Her breasts seemed to tuck tighter, firmer under Madison’s. With each rotation, her chest pushed upward and into Madison’s cleavage, using the edge of her jugs to wedge and punish from underneath.
Madison gasped.
Genevieve grinned, voice low and lethal. “Oh my, Maddy, I think they're softening…”
Both women were trembling now. Five minutes in and the pain was brutal.
Madison’s breaths were coming faster. Her arms were still locked, but her grip was slipping with sweat. Genevieve’s back was red where Madison’s nails dug in, but she wasn’t loosening.
“Say it,” Genevieve hissed, her voice low and venomous. “Say my breasts beat your plastic princess ****.”
Madison’s nostrils flared with rage. With a sudden growl, she dug deep and twisted her hips, yanking Genevieve off balance in a desperate attempt to execute a body slam. But Genevieve was ready. She hooked her leg around Madison’s and shifted her weight expertly, turning the momentum in her favor. In one smooth, breathtaking motion, Genevieve surged upward—lifting Madison clean off the mat.
The crowd erupted.
“GENEVIEVE! GENEVI—”
But the lift had cost her. Genevieve’s arms quivered from the strain. She staggered slightly, then lowered Madison back down—but not without purpose. As their feet touched the mat again, Genevieve adjusted her stance and tightened her grip, her arms cinching around Madison like steel cables.
Madison’s breath hitched. Her battered 34Cs were already raw and screaming, but now they were being punished by the unrelenting press of Genevieve’s proud, firm 34Cs—two compact weapons grinding inward with finality.
“I’ve got you,” Genevieve whispered into her ear, her lips curling into a victorious smirk.
Madison whimpered. Her chest was aflame, her nipples long since numbed from the endless grinding. Her arms, once defiant and forceful, now trembled behind Genevieve’s slick shoulders.
Still, she clung on—barely—as Genevieve began rolling her shoulders deliberately, sending a ripple through her chest that carried into Madison’s already crumbling defenses. Her breasts shifted with every movement, manipulated like clay under the dominance of Genevieve’s.
The referee hovered nearby, watching the brutal embrace stretch into its tenth minute—the longest and most grueling bear hug of the tournament.
Genevieve’s grip migrated, sliding down to Madison’s lower back, anchoring her completely. Madison’s head lolled forward, her cheek resting against Genevieve’s damp collarbone, her fingers twitching uselessly behind G’s back.
Their torsos were welded together. Their sweat-slick skin shimmered under the lights. Their breasts—red, throbbing, mashed flat—were still locked in an intimate, punishing war.
Then it happened.
Madison’s right breast gave way—slowly, shamefully.
What had once been a proud, round swell of soft resilience began to collapse under the punishing force of Genevieve’s crushing embrace. The firmness gave out first, melting into a mushy surrender. The tight skin lost its taut defiance. The once-springy tissue compressed flat, squishing helplessly beneath the grinding pressure. Madison’s arms, which had been locked in defiant resistance, sagged at the elbows. Her breath hitched high in her chest, then caught entirely. Her lips parted in a soft, shocked gasp.
And then the left followed—betraying her just as cruelly.
It crumpled inward like dough under a rolling pin, the proud curve vanishing in an instant of devastating pressure. The shape gave out, the tension gone and her breast mushroomed to the sides as Genevieve's breasts had broken her. Madison whimpered. She felt it all—the pain, the heat, the humiliating collapse.
Her breasts, once symbols of confidence and pride, were now squashed and broken. The tissue flattened and spread outward, bulging obscenely against the sides of Genevieve’s dominant chest. They were no longer fighting—just soft, yielding flesh, sagging and defeated.
Genevieve’s lips brushed her ear, hot and slow with victory.
“Ohhh, there we go,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You feel that, sweetheart? You feel my breasts flattening yours? That’s the sound of you giving in.”
Madison didn’t answer—she couldn’t. Her flattened breasts said it all.
Madison could only moan—a broken, guttural sound that came from somewhere deep in her chest. Her whole body quivered as the fight drained from her, leaving only shame, exhaustion, and the humiliating sensation of being smothered breast-to-breast by the woman who had clearly won.
Genevieve leaned in closer, her voice dripping with triumph. “Say it. Say it, and I’ll stop.”
But Madison couldn’t speak. She was too far gone—breasts crushed, pride shattered, arms limp at her sides.
And Genevieve knew it.
She held her tighter.
And smiled.
“I… I can’t—”
The crowd surged forward, phones out, screaming as Genevieve squeezed with one final, chest-to-chest crush.
“Say it,” she demanded.
Madison whimpered. “I submit…”
The bell rang.
The ref tugged at her, but Genevieve didn’t budge. Her arms stayed locked around Madison’s broken body, holding her close—possessively, deliberately. Victory alone wasn’t enough. She wanted Madison to feel it. Every tremble in Genevieve’s flexing biceps, every slow, merciless squeeze of their slick, battered bodies pressed together, was a message carved into flesh: You lost. I own you now.
Madison whimpered, too weak to resist, her breath hitching with every pulse of pressure. Her chest was crushed against Genevieve’s, their breasts mashed tightly together—hers yielding completely to the firmer, prouder pair that had just dominated her.
Genevieve leaned in and whispered something low and venomous into Madison’s ear, then gave one final, possessive squeeze—just cruel enough to make her rival cry out.
Then, with a final, vicious show of strength, Genevieve leaned back, hoisted Madison completely off her feet, and slammed her into the canvas with brutal force. The thud echoed like a gunshot.
It wasn’t just a finisher—it was a statement. A warning.
Genevieve rose slowly, panting, every breath causing her chest to rise and fall in sharp heaves. Her breasts were tight, red, streaked with marks—but still proud. She stepped back, letting the crowd drink it all in.
Madison lay sprawled on her back, limbs limp, her body utterly wrecked. Her once-perky 34Cs were swollen, discolored, and visibly losing their shape. Her chest barely rose. Her eyes blinked up into the lights, dazed, uncomprehending.
Her face twisted with disbelief, shame, and pain. She didn’t just lose—she’d been owned.
She stared up at Genevieve like a woman trying to make sense of her own defeat... and failing.
The crowd erupted. The arena roared with raw, frenzied energy—cheers, gasps, chants. They knew they’d just witnessed a massacre.
Genevieve didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.
Her body spoke for her.
POST-FIGHT HUMILIATION (5 Minutes)
Genevieve wasted no time.
She stepped forward, grabbed Madison by the hair, and yanked her to her feet. Madison was too exhausted to resist.
But Genevieve wasn’t done. Not even close. A quick knee to the abs folded Madison in half then yanked her head back throwing her to the mat.
With the crowd howling in anticipation, the Wannabee champion grabbed Madison by the ankles and dragged her limp form to the center of the ring like discarded prey. She straddled her for a moment, soaking in the spotlight, then crouched low, her fingers hooking under the band of Madison’s panties.
With one sharp yank, she ripped them off, baring Madison completely. The crowd erupted as Genevieve stood up, holding the delicate, lacy fabric high above her head like a trophy. Madison moaned weakly, face twisted in shame and helplessness.
Genevieve grinned and walked a full circle around the ring, dragging Madison by her sweat-matted hair, forcing her to crawl on her knees like a broken pet. The cameras flashed, the fans screamed—and Genevieve just smirked, waving Madison’s torn panties like a banner of war.
Then, with ruthless flair, she balled them up and stuffed them into Madison’s mouth. Madison gagged slightly, her muffled cries barely audible as Genevieve grabbed her jaw with one hand and leaned in close.
“Say it,” she hissed. “Say I broke your pathetic Barbie rack.”
Madison’s eyes fluttered. She didn’t want to. But the pressure… the shame… the crowd… She finally gave a soft, muffled moan of surrender.
Genevieve’s eyes gleamed.
With a guttural cry, Genevieve seized Madison by the shoulders and gave a violent, dominating tug—ripping her off balance and dragging her down hard onto the mat. The crowd gasped as Madison’s body bounced, the air knocked from her lungs. Genevieve straddled her within seconds, planting herself with unstoppable force atop her rival’s flattened chest. She grabbed both of Madison’s wrists and slammed them above her head, pinning them down brutally, her knuckles white with pressure.
Madison squirmed, but she was trapped—her arms stretched above her head, shoulders straining helplessly beneath Genevieve’s unyielding grip. Her legs kicked instinctively, trying to gain leverage, but Genevieve wasn’t done asserting dominance. With deliberate precision, she slid her legs between Madison’s and hooked them wide, forcing her opponent’s thighs apart in a punishing grapevine hold.
Genevieve pressed her body down slowly, relishing the shift in power as Madison’s hips lifted involuntarily with a gasp. Their torsos pressed tightly, Genevieve’s weight locking everything in place. Madison blinked up through a haze of disbelief and desperation, the painful stretch in her legs echoing the pressure building across her chest and shoulders.
“Nowhere to go,” Genevieve whispered coldly, her breath hot. “Now you feel it.”
Every inch of Madison's body was pinned and spread, her pride unraveling beneath Genevieve’s controlled assault.
And then, slowly, deliberately, Genevieve lowered herself.
Her hanging breasts—still firm, proud, and burning with victory—descended over Madison’s flushed, defeated face.
There was no rush. No mercy
.
Genevieve pressed in, her chest engulfing Madison face in a smother that was more than punishment—it was domination. Skin sealed to skin, her curves molded tightly over Madison’s mouth and nose, cutting off everything—air, sound, hope.
Madison bucked and twisted beneath her, legs kicking, hips thrusting in panic. Her muffled cries were lost under the smother, the crowd roaring over her struggles. Genevieve adjusted slightly, ensuring an airtight seal, grinding in deeper, pressing her chest with methodical cruelty.
This wasn’t just a final move. This was a message.
“I told you,” Genevieve growled, her voice vibrating through the smother. “You don’t humiliate me.”
Madison’s back scraped the mat in frantic, failing resistance. Her eyes fluttered wide, then wild, then heavy. Her arms pulled at nothing. Her body writhed—but it was all useless now.
The pressure stayed firm.
The smother deepened.
Genevieve’s expression was calm, focused—unforgiving.
She didn’t rise until Madison’s body went slack beneath her, her limbs dropping to the mat in trembling surrender.
Then, finally, with a slow exhale, Genevieve pushed up off her, standing tall over the wreckage she’d left behind.
And the arena exploded.
Madison bucked weakly, legs kicking once… then again… then still.
The crowd counted it out.
Genevieve finally stood, chest heaving in triumph, towering over her ruined opponent.
She bent down one last time, reached into the corner, and plucked up Madison’s crumpled bra. With a smirk, she twirled it on her finger like a victory banner before casually tossing it into the crowd.
“Put that in the trophy case,” she sneered.
The lights above gleamed on Genevieve’s sweat-slicked body as she stood tall, arms raised in undisputed triumph—unmatched, unchallenged, and utterly dominant.
The ring shook with energy as the Wannabees surged in, cheering wildly. They hoisted their champion up onto their shoulders, parading her around like a conquering warrior. The crowd roared, and the cameras flashed—but Genevieve only had eyes for one thing: Kylie and Natalie, watching from ringside, their expressions tight and unreadable.
Jayden Bartels stepped to the ropes, locking eyes with Kylie. “So much for your soft little loser,” she sneered, her voice venomous and victorious. “We’re just getting started, sunshine.”
Kylie bristled, her jaw tightening—but she said nothing. Natalie folded her arms, the wheels already turning behind her glare.
This wasn’t just a win. It was a statement.
The Wannabees weren’t flukes or underdogs. They could stand breast to breast with anyone in that ring—and come out on top. The tides had turned, and now Kylie and Natalie were being forced to take notice.
This war wasn’t over.
It was only just beginning.
Written by the Badass Barbies.
Madison Beer 34C vs Genevieve Hannelius 34C
Madison Beer Badass Barbies vs. Genevieve Hannelius The Wannabees
Early Las Vegas Odds:
Madison Beer: -130 Favorite
Genevieve Hannelius: +110 Underdog
Fighter Breakdown:
Madison Beer – “Pop Princess Punisher”
- Age: 25
- Stable: Badass Barbies
- Bust Size: 34C
- Strengths: Show-stopping confidence, upper body control, fan-favorite flair
- Weaknesses: Gets emotional and reckless when taunted
Madison Beer has never been one to back down from a spotlight—or a scrap. After watching Ariel dominate Cree in the opening bout, Madison is determined to keep the momentum rolling for the Barbies and Wicked Queens alliance. With perfectly toned curves and a flair for the dramatic, Madison brings both fashion and fury into the ring.
She's been spotted training with Kylie Jenner and Sydney Sweeney at “The Dollhouse,” hammering padded torsos with chest sways and bouncing drills. Her specialty? “Cup Crushes”—a vicious technique where she rams forward with her upper torso in repeated timed bursts.
On Social Media:
“I’ve got the same size rack as her. The difference is… mine are just better. Better shape, better mass, better nipples. G, you’re going DOWN.”
(Captioned under a slow-motion video of Madison leaning out a car window hr heaving bosom hanging out.)
Genevieve Hannelius – “The Sweetheart Switchblade”
- Age: 25
- Stable: The Wannabees
- Bust Size: 34C
- Strengths: Tight toned muscular frame, tenacity, razor-sharp focus
- Weaknesses: Inconsistent under pressure
After watching her teammate get crushed in Bout #1, G is taking this personally. She’s been silent on social media for most of the week—until today, when she posted a single picture:
Her back to the camera, bra unclasped, and a caption:
“Maddy's going to wish that Ashley Benson was beating her ass again after she goes breast to breast with me.”
(Captioned under a video of clearly agitated Genevieve in a white halter top counting out why she is going to smash Madison)
G has been training in a mirrored studio doing synchronized upper body strikes while working on breath control and grip techniques. Sources say she’s been focusing on “X press”—a rarely seen move used to pin the opponents nipples.
The Trash Talk: It’s Personal Now
After Ariel’s come from behind performance, the Badass Barbies and Wicked Queens haven’t let up on the trash talk—especially Madison.
On IG Live, Madison grinned at the camera while wearing a pink sports bra, her chest glistening from sweat:
“Aril was just the appetizer. G’s the main course. And guess what? I eat sweethearts like her for breakfast.”
In response, G posted a rare clip of her training: silent, eyes focused, as she bounced rapidly on her toes, chest flexing with precision.
Overlay text: “Let’s see if you’re still smirking when you’re gasping under this perfect pair of C-cups. These are all real, t!ts. No plastic like Madison.”
Even Kylie Jenner jumped into the fray again:
“One Wannaloser down. Madison’s about to make it two. The Wannabees can run their mouths all day—but that can’t save them from getting smothered.”
Vegas Takes Notice
This fight is way closer than the first. With both fighters sporting matching34C busts and a similar age and frame, the line is tight. Still, Madison’s reputation and Barbie-brand aura give her a slight edge.
Updated Vegas Odds:
- Madison Beer: -110
- Genevieve Hannelius: +105
- First telling strike: Genevieve (-120)
- First taunt during contact: Madison (-140)
- Knockdown by breast slam: Yes (-115)
- Post-match pose over opponent: Madison (-150)
This bout is the closest in the bracket—a true C-cup clash where there’s no clear size advantage. But don’t be fooled by the symmetry. These women are fighting for pride, position, and the future of their stables.
Round 1 – Nipple Combat
The room is cool but electric, the canvas illuminated by a single overhead spotlight. Two figures stand at opposite corners of the breast-to-breast arena: Madison Beer, dripping with icy confidence, her nipples diamond-hard against her tanned, high-sitting C-cups; and Genevieve Hannelius, leaner, paler, her breasts glistening from a fresh coat of chilled mist. Her nipples stand out like twin spears, pink and sharp.
The ref steps between them and declares.
“This is Round 1. Nipple combat only. No hands, no punches. Just tit to tit… and nipple to nipple.”
The bell rings.
They step forward, firm bare chests swaying leading the way like ancient warriors brandishing spears. There’s no hesitation—only impact.
PLAP!
Their nipples collide dead center. A frozen silence ripples through the crowd as both women grunt, shifting hips for better pressure. They lean in, breasts flattened in a perfect mirror, nipples locked in a fierce poke-and-press.
Genevieve lets out a soft hiss. Madison smirks.
“Already squeaking? Maybe I’ll teach you how to sing.”</blockquote> </blockquote> But Gen snarls back, eyes locked on Madison’s chest.
“I’m just warming up, you plastic piece of sh!t Barbie.”</blockquote> </blockquote> Suddenly, Genevieve twists her torso slightly, angling her left nipple for a rake across Madison’s exposed right areola. Madison flinches as the pink spear drags across sensitive skin.
Ohh my, that one stung, huh?” Gen grins, following up with another sharp rake. “Better moisturize those C-cups.”
Madison snarls and presses forward full-force, both nipples slamming into Gen’s with a meaty thock. The echo draws gasps from the crowd.
“You want pain?” Madison growls. “Let’s dig in.”</blockquote> </blockquote> Now Madison takes control. Her nipples stab again and again, poking like hardened drills, peppering Gen’s pale targets with rapid-fire stabs. Gen stumbles back, gritting her teeth, breasts red and inflamed already.
“Don’t run, little Wannaloser,” Madison taunts, chest bouncing forward. “You’re supposed to be fighting, not flinching.”
Genevieve steadies herself, breathing heavily. Madison’s rhythm is relentless—each press feels like glass scraping skin. She tries to angle for a nipple trap, attempting a pin attempt by using her firm breast base to push Gen’s left nipple downward.
“Five seconds,” the ref says, watching closely.
One. Two—
Genevieve twists her upper body hard, breaking the pin with a gasp and a defiant shove of her chest.
“You’re not flattening these nips yet, ****.”</blockquote> </blockquote> Both women step back, chest to chest again, sweat beginning to glisten across their cleavage.
Then—Genevieve lowers her chin and lunges.
With a whip-like twist of her shoulders, she slashes her right nipple across both of Madison’s, a double nipple rake that causes Madison’s breath to catch audibly.
“You feel that?” Gen smirks, her voice a sultry growl. “That’s the difference between posing… and piercing.
Madison tries to rally with a direct nipple stab, but Gen absorbs the blow and counters with a series of circular rubs—grinding her hardened tips against Madison’s in tight, sharp spirals.
Madison gasps. Her left nipple is starting to pinken and swell and the throbbing pain shoots through her spine.
“Yours feel like limp wet noodles,” Genevieve whispers, leaning close enough to let her breath fog over Madison’s neck. “Maybe all that ice was just for show.
“You wish,” Madison hisses through clenched teeth. “Your little pencil erasers can’t dent me.”</blockquote> </blockquote> “No?” Gen rasps. “Let’s see if they can invert you.”
Genevieve presses in tight, pushing her nipples directly into Madison’s, angling upward, applying calculated pressure—nipples against nipples, dead center. Madison’s eyes widen as her right tip begins to retreat, flattening slightly under Gen’s unrelenting assault.
“Hold… HOLD…” the ref commands, checking the form. Gen’s nipples are like steel spikes, her technique laser-focused.
Madison growls, summoning everything. With a primal grunt, she bucks her chest upward, using the full firmness of her breasts to dislodge the inversion attempt.
“You wanna push my nips in?” Madison snarls, chest heaving. “I’ll push yours through your f$cking spine.”
Now it’s rage and muscle. Madison presses back with brutal efficiency. Her nipples stab—deep and punishing—like she’s fencing with blades. Genevieve’s tight frame wobbles with each hit. Her nipples are still sharp—but they’re starting to tremble, starting to yield to Madison's unrelenting pressure.
Madison leans in, her voice cold and low:
“I’m not here to edge out a win, sweetheart. I’m here to break you.”</blockquote> </blockquote> She goes for a double stab—both nipples pressing into Gen’s at once, in a brutal X-motion. Genevieve cries out, her legs buckling.
Genevieve tries to back off, but Madison lunges forward bullying the young Wannabee into the ropes. She drops her torso half an inch, trapping both of Genevieve’s nipples beneath her own, flattening them to the breastbone with expert leverage.
One… Two… Three… Four…
Genevieve twists, groaning, but Madison holds steady, face flushed with effort, shoulders leaning heavy.
FIV. . .
The refs hand almost comes back down but Gen squirms her way out of the pin.
“No Pin! No Pin!”
Kylie and Natalie are furious.
“Go back to kindergarten and learn how to f$cking count!” Screams Natalie.
Genevieve stumbles back her nipples bright red and visibly shaking. Madison’s are flushed too—but still standing proud and stiff.
She walks a slow circle around Gen, nipples bobbing with smug purpose.
Genevieve’s knees trembled beneath her. Sweat poured down her flushed face, warm droplets dripping on her cleavage. Her chest heaved with each breath, her body coated in the physical toll of the brutal war she and Madison had been waging for what felt like an eternity. But her eyes—though bloodshot and rimmed with strain—still burned with fire. Refusal. Rage.
Across from her, Madison stood tall and steady, chest rising slowly, her expression confident, even taunting. Her lips curled into a crooked smile as she tilted her head slightly.
“You done yet?” Madison asked coolly, voice low and cutting. “Or do you want me to humiliate you one more time?”
Genevieve’s nostrils flared. Her pride, her pain, her fury—all twisted into a raw guttural scream as she launched herself forward again, teeth gritted, body trembling but determined. The crowd gasped as the two women collided with a loud damp splat, bodies slamming together, sweat flying off their glistening skin in a spray of effort.
Their chests clashed with a thunderous slap, skin-on-skin contact echoing through the arena like a shot. It was pure, focused aggression now—no fancy moves, no hesitation. Nipples locked again, harder, sharper, and angrier than before. They moved with a terrifying precision, striking with pinpoint accuracy, rubbing with evil intent each clash drawing audible groans from both women.
Genevieve clenched her jaw, ignoring the burning pain surging through her chest. Each impact now made her feel like her entire torso was splintering. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Her pride screamed louder than the pain.
Madison grunted as the battle raged on, but she was relentless. Her superior conditioning and discipline began to show now. While Genevieve’s strikes became more desperate and wild, Madison’s were measured, brutal, merciless. She didn’t just meet Genevieve’s attacks—she countered them with calm, crushing control.
Step by step, Madison began to bully forward. With each brutal collision, Genevieve was forced backward. Inch by inch. Her feet scraped the canvas, struggling to hold ground, but it was no use.
Thud.
Another stab. Another groan.
Smack.
Genevieve’s shoulders brushed the ropes.
Wack.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as Madison drove in again, this time twisting just enough to angle her chest and deliver a sharp poking rake that made Genevieve moan.
The crowd rose as one, the arena holding its collective breath.
Madison’s eyes locked on her opponent, calculating, almost surgical now. She saw the weakness. Smelled the collapse. She stepped in close—too close for Genevieve to regain distance—and began driving forward in methodical, powerful, punishing rakes.
Each poke forced Genevieve’s back to arch further into the ropes, her body trapped in a helpless half-bend. Madison’s chest bore down mercilessly, her nipples like daggers pushing Genevieve’s aside, dominating the space and pushing hers painfully out of alignment.
Genevieve gasped.
Then whimpered.
Her arms shook at her sides, hands curled into fists but useless. There was nothing to do now but endure… or surrender.
“I can keep this up all night,” Madison hissed. “But I can see that you're weak little nips are about done.”
A shudder passed through Genevieve’s body. Her knees wobbled. Her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. But her eyes—those proud, seething eyes—were filling with tears.
Another side to side rake.
Another poke.
An even louder whimper.
“Give. It. Up.”
Madison’s words were low, each one delivered with a nipple to nipple poke that shook Genevieve to her core. Her nipples—flattened, pushed sideways, overwhelmed—burned like they were on fire.
Her breath hitched. Her chest trembled. Her nipples throbbed from the relentless pressure, crushed beneath Madison’s iron will. She could feel them being bent and twisted, flattened and bullied against her will until every nerve screamed. And Madison wasn’t relenting. Not for one second.
“I can keep this up all night,” Madison sneered, her voice low and vicious, a predator enjoying the helpless shudders beneath her. “But I can see your weak nips are about done.”
Genevieve’s lips parted in a gasp, but no words came. Just the softest of whimpers.
The crowd sensed it—so did Madison. The end was coming. Genevieve’s arms hung at her sides, fists clenched but useless. She was trapped in this violent ballet of pain, dominance, and humiliation. She wasn’t just being beaten—she was being dismantled piece by piece by a clearly better rack.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Her knees trembled.
But somewhere deep inside her, something snapped—not in surrender, but in defiance.
No!
Genevieve's breath drew ragged and furious. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t some broken toy to be discarded. She was fire. Rage. Pride. And Madison had just made the mistake of thinking she’d won too early.
With a guttural scream that pierced the tension like lightning, Genevieve lunged forward.
Her first swing came wild, reckless, but it connected. Madison’s head jerked to the side from the slap. Shock registered in her eyes.
Another swing scraped across Madison’s chest, sending her backward until she was resting on her back foot.
“WHAT THE—” Madison began, but Genevieve didn’t let her finish.
Left poke. Right jab. Another left poke.
Madison staggered. Her balance faltered.
The crowd erupted.
Genevieve was alive and she was furious.
Her strikes weren’t clean, weren’t pretty—but they were savage. They raked across Madison’s chest and sides, leaving red trails that bloomed across her skin. With each press, Genevieve reclaimed territory, forcing Madison backward, backpedaling like a boxer caught flat-footed.
Madison tried to regroup, to bring her own pressure back to bear, but Genevieve was relentless now.
"You thought I’d fold?" Genevieve hissed, landing a spinning back rake that knocked Madison into the ropes. “You thought this was over?”
Madison gasped, her skin turning a deep, angry red where Genevieve’s strikes had landed. She tried to raise her arms—but there was no blocking allowed. And Genevieve wasn’t letting up.
With one final shout, Genevieve drove Madison into the corner, chest-first. The audience roared.
And then—then—came the moment that would be whispered about for years to come.
Genevieve stepped in close.
Her chest pressed flush to Madison’s like some ancient feminine weapon forged in fire and fury, Genevieve lowered her torso just slightly… and dropped her left nipple on top of Madison’s right.
Madison’s eyes blew wide. “Nnnnnngh—!”
But Genevieve wasn’t done.
Keeping the pressure steady, she began to rotate her torso—left, then right, slowly, cruelly, dragging the hardened bud across Madison’s sensitive nipple like it was a grinding stone. The friction was devastating. Madison’s mouth opened in a silent scream, her hands fluttering at her sides, helpless.
And then—the kill move.
Genevieve twisted her torso the other way, and now brought her right nipple under Madison’s left, locking her opponent into a devastating criss-cross double nipple press—a move so rare, so precise, only a handful of women on Earth could pull it off. It required control. Precision. Sadistic patience.
Madison wailed. Her body shook.
She knew. She knew.
“Don’t you dare pass out,” Genevieve hissed into her ear. “I want you to feel this.”
With each breath, Genevieve leaned in harder, her nipples forming a brutal X, applying torque, pushing Madison’s left nipple up while her right one was being driven down. It was too much. Too much for any woman to endure. Madison’s chest was being warped. Her pride, pulverized. Her nerves lit up like fire.
Genevieve rotated her hips slightly—just enough to shift the alignment and increase the twist.
“Ahhh! S-Stop!” Madison sobbed.
“No!,” Genevieve snarled, pressing even closer. “You don’t get to cry your way out of this.”
The crowd was on its feet now. Every woman in the room stared, slack-jawed, in awe—and horror. No one had ever seen anything like it. Genevieve's nipples were a deadly assault weapon. Her will, an inferno. And Madison—once the predator—was now the helpless prey.
Her head rolled back against the turnbuckle. Her lips quivered. Her legs trembled.
“I c-can’t—” she whimpered.
But Genevieve didn’t let up.
Another twist.
Another blood curdling scream.
And then—finally—the dam broke.
Madison screamed, the words tearing out of her as her body crumpled in the corner.
“OH GOD! MAKE HER STOP! MAKE HER ST—AAAAAHHH!”
Her knees gave out. Her arms flailed. The referee rushed in, arms waving, but Genevieve held her position for one final, dominant second before stepping back.
Madison collapsed to the mat, curling into herself, hands cupping her aching breasts like they were broken glass.
Genevieve didn’t gloat. Didn’t pose.
She just looked down at her fallen opponent, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on her chest, nipples still hard and flushed from battle.
“You picked the wrong girl to mess with,” she muttered.
And with that, she turned and walked away—head high, hips swaying, leaving behind the groaning ruin of the woman who thought she’d won.
The phoenix had risen.
And she'd scorched her enemy to ash.
The ref rushed in to confirm the result, lifting Genevieve’s arm as the victor.
Madison, supported now by her team, slumped into her stool, trembling and defeated, her head bowed not from shame, her once stiff nipples now dropping on her chest, the left drooping down while the right lay flat on it's side. She had the round in hr hands but in the end was completely dominated by Genevieve.
There was no shame in her performance. But there was no doubt about the winner either.
Round 1 belonged to Genevieve. And she’d earned it one stab, one rake, one poke, one stab at a time.
WINNER: GENEVIEVE HANNEIUS – VERBALL SUBMISSION
ROUND 2:
The crowd roars in anticipation as the fighters rise for Round 2, their torsos shining under the arena lights. Both girls are still ****—Genevieve's full, round breasts bouncing confidently with every step, while Madison’s chest carries the bruises and swelling from Round 1. But her eyes…
Her eyes burn.
DING DING!
Madison doesn’t wait. She storms forward, smug and sure, leading with her chest.
WHAM!
Her breasts slam into Genevieve’s like twin wrecking balls. The crack echoes through the arena.
Genevieve stumbles back a step, gasping—but doesn’t fall.
Madison growls and lashes side-to-side, swinging her breasts back and forth like blunt weapons.
SMACK—CRACK—WHACK!
Left, right, left. Her heavier **** rock Genevieve’s chest, making the smaller girl twist and recoil. The crowd oohs at every hit. Gen’s breasts are taking punishment—skin rippling, flesh jolting—but she stays on her feet.
“Thought I was done after you're tricky little move,” Madison sneers, strutting forward. “I’m just warming up.”
She jumps, lifting her chest high—then arcs them in a tight circle.
DROP!
Her breasts crash down from above like twin meteors, hammering Gen’s chest.
Genevieve’s legs buckle. She groans, chest burning, but again she doesn’t go down. She stumbles back, regaining her breath. Madison steps forward, cocky, winding up for another full-body smash—
But Genevieve sidesteps. And strikes.
BOOM!
She launches a perfect breast uppercut, her right tit slamming upward underneath Madison’s left.
Madison gasps—the underside is ultra-sensitive—and her breast bounces up and brushes into her chin.
“You wanna see pain?” Genevieve snaps, surging forward.
WHAM! WHAM!
She launches double uppercuts, targeting both undersides. Madison’s chest lifts violently under the impact. She reels back, disoriented, arms flailing.
Genevieve drives her hips, shoulders whipping—
SWING. FWUP. WHAP.
Breasts whipping left to right, hitting Madison’s pair like twin hammers.
THWACK. THWACK.
Madison's **** are sloshing, losing shape, folding under the repeated impacts.
The crowd is on their feet.
Madison tries to reset, growling, and lunges forward with another heavy breast smash—
BAM!
A savage breast jab, shoulder-driven, right into Genevieve's sternum.
The Wannabee gasps, body jolting from the shock.
Another jab.
Then another.
And another!
JAB. JAB. JAB.
Each hit is quicker than the last, driving Genevieve backward step by step, her chest reddening, swelling visibly. Her hands clench at her sides, teeth grinding.
“Where's that smug ass grin you had a minute ago,” Madison growls, breathing heavy.
“Where did it go, huh?!”
Gen roars and lunges again with a full-body smash—
But Maddy’s ready.
She twists her torso mid-impact and lets her left breast crash diagonally into Genevieve’s right, folding it hard, twisting the tit to the side.
Genevieve howls, falling back again, her chest heaving, wobbling, the swelling unmistakable now.
Madison closes one calculated step at a time closing in like a predator.
She jumps, brings both breasts high, and lets them fall.
POWER DROP. FLATTEN.
They slam down onto Genevieve’s battered chest.
Genevieve stumbles, glassy-eyed. Her legs wobble and her knees smash into each other.
The Brunette Barbie doesn’t stop. She bends her knees and dips low.
Uppercut. She dips again--Uppercut. Jab. Side swing. Jab. Drop.
Genevieve’s breasts are now deep red, losing their firmness. They hang heavier, less responsive, bouncing like they’ve been brutalized.
Madison stares her faltering opponent down, panting, but defiant. “Quit, ****. You’re done.”
Genevieve blinks, sweat pouring off her, lips parted— sweat dripping between her bruised and battered cleavage.
Then Maddy pulls her arms back and lashes her chest forward one last time.
FULL CONTACT BREAST SMASH.
WHAM.
KNOCKDOWN.
Genevieve crashes to the mat on her back, her **** splayed and crushed beneath her, unmoving for several seconds. The crowd erupts.
The ref leans in—
Gen moans softly, eyes fluttering. Her hand twitches. But no response.
The ref waves his arms.
TKO — MADISON BEER WINS ROUND 2!
Madison bends forward resting hr hands on her knees, chest battered but still firm intact, defiant, victorious. Her fists raised high, nipples flushed but proud, she screams in triumph as Genevieve rolls to her side, cupping her ruined chest, humiliated and stunned.
The victorious brunette leans down and whispers through a tired grin:
“What happened to your ****? Too soft for war.”
The Match is now tied 1–1 and Round 3 promises to be hell.
ROUND 3 — BEAR HUG
The crowd was on fire as the lights pulsed above the ring. The mat was stained with sweat, and the humid air shimmered with the heat of battle. Two **** warriors stood at the center, their torsos red and welted, their faces flushed with adrenaline, pain, and fury.
Madison Beer looked like a woman reborn. She’d been dismantled in Round 1—humiliated by Gen’s weaponized nipples, her own 34Cs twisted, stabbed, and finally crushed into an X press submission. But she had bounced back in Round 2 with the fury of a woman possessed, smashing Genevieve's once-dominant 34Cs into soft, throbbing targets with a late-round comeback that flipped the momentum and dropped Genevieve on her back.
Gen, on the other hand, looked vulnerable. The confidence she’d carried during the nipple-to-nipple clash was gone—shattered by a brutal flurry of strikes from Madison's solid rack. The onslaught had been fast, merciless. Maddy's breasts were a blur of motion, pounding Madison’s chest until it felt like raw pulp. Then the KO, a power shot that lifted Genevieve off her feet.
Outside the ropes, Jayden leaned over, whispering urgently in her ear, trying to keep her grounded. But Genevieve’s mind was drifting—wishing she were anywhere else, anywhere but trapped in this ring with Madison Beer.
Jayden’s tone shifted, snapping sharp.
“Suck it up, Gen. You can take her. Just don’t let her go off on you again. Counter. Bully her. Push her around. You’ve got this. Okay?”
Gen nodded, slow but obedient, and forced herself upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her. Her shoulders sagged. And when she glanced across the ring, her heart dropped.
Madison looked untouched—bouncing on the balls of her feet, radiating energy. Her breasts still sat high and firm, barely moving with each bounce, taunting with their defiance of gravity.
Maddy’s head bobbed with smug confidence as she walked Genevieve down, jutting her chest forward, letting the tips of her breasts lightly jab into Genevieve’s. The contact was slight—but the effect was devastating. Gen’s own breasts gave way instantly, flattening back under the firmer press.
Madison smirked, lips curling as she licked them slowly.
The ref stepped in, arm between them, edging them closer until their chests were fully aligned, breast-to-breast, perfectly level.
Neither backed down.
They wrapped their arms around each other, slow and tight. Flesh pressed against flesh. Grip tightened.
Round three was about to begin—and it was going to be war.
Now they stood face-to-face. Breast-to-breast.
Evenly matched in height, their chests brushed as they squared up, but everyone could see the subtle edge in size belonged to Madison despite both having 34C's. Still, the difference felt irrelevant. It was about who had more left, who could endure more pain, and who had the fire to squeeze the life out of the other.
The ref raised a hand.
“Final Round,” she called. “No strikes. No slaps. Full contact, bear hug only. First to submit or release loses. Lock in Ladies!”
Madison surged forward, teeth clenched, wrapping her arms tight around Genevieve’s waist. Genevieve grunted and mirrored the motion, digging her fingertips into Madison’s slick back and squeezing with everything she had.
Their breasts mashed together, the contact instantly electric and painful. Nipple met nipple. Flesh flattened. The crowd gasped as both girls winced—but neither pulled back.
“Fffff—” Madison hissed. “Your bony **** are gonna fold first.”
Genevieve growled. “We’ll see who folds, Barbie.”
They started to twist, shoulder to shoulder, each trying to gain leverage. Madison’s slightly larger, rounder breasts made the initial impact harder. She leaned forward, driving her weight into G, forcing her smaller chest to bend around the force.
Genevieve buckled for half a second—but then shifted her feet and adjusted, flexing her core, lifting just enough to absorb Madison’s crush.
“Come on,” Genevieve snarled. “Crush me then.”
Madison responded with a brutal shift—lifting Genevieve an inch off the mat with a grunt of effort. The bear hug intensified. Their breasts strained, compressed, smushed between their bodies as the pressure mounted.
But Genevieve’s legs clamped around Madison’s, locking her down and halting the lift.
Both girls were gritting their teeth now. Their faces were inches apart. Beads of sweat ran down their cheeks and onto their bare shoulders.
Madison’s arms were shaking, her ribs pressing in tighter. Her orbs were slightly flattened—but still fighting. Genevieve’s rack was compressed deeply, mashed like dough against Madison’s, but they weren’t quitting.
A collective roar erupted as they started to pivot again, their sweat-slick bodies grinding as they looked for a new angle.
Madison leaned in close, whispering through clenched teeth.
“Yours feel like underooked pancakes.”
Genevieve replied by arching her back, rolling her shoulders, and giving a forward press that drove her left breast directly into Madison’s right—nipple to nipple. Madison winced, and the crowd saw her foot slide back an inch.
“You flinched,” Genevieve said.
“No I didn’t.”
“You’re cracking.”
Madison dug deeper. She twisted, pushing her arms higher, locking her fingers behind G’s upper back and pressing her 34Cs inward with new fury. The soft flesh of her chest mushroomed, enveloping G’s breasts. It looked like a classic crush attempt.
But Genevieve snarled and rolled her shoulders up and in, like a slow grinding dance. Her breasts seemed to tuck tighter, firmer under Madison’s. With each rotation, her chest pushed upward and into Madison’s cleavage, using the edge of her jugs to wedge and punish from underneath.
Madison gasped.
Genevieve grinned, voice low and lethal. “Oh my, Maddy, I think they're softening…”
Both women were trembling now. Five minutes in and the pain was brutal.
Madison’s breaths were coming faster. Her arms were still locked, but her grip was slipping with sweat. Genevieve’s back was red where Madison’s nails dug in, but she wasn’t loosening.
“Say it,” Genevieve hissed, her voice low and venomous. “Say my breasts beat your plastic princess ****.”
Madison’s nostrils flared with rage. With a sudden growl, she dug deep and twisted her hips, yanking Genevieve off balance in a desperate attempt to execute a body slam. But Genevieve was ready. She hooked her leg around Madison’s and shifted her weight expertly, turning the momentum in her favor. In one smooth, breathtaking motion, Genevieve surged upward—lifting Madison clean off the mat.
The crowd erupted.
“GENEVIEVE! GENEVI—”
But the lift had cost her. Genevieve’s arms quivered from the strain. She staggered slightly, then lowered Madison back down—but not without purpose. As their feet touched the mat again, Genevieve adjusted her stance and tightened her grip, her arms cinching around Madison like steel cables.
Madison’s breath hitched. Her battered 34Cs were already raw and screaming, but now they were being punished by the unrelenting press of Genevieve’s proud, firm 34Cs—two compact weapons grinding inward with finality.
“I’ve got you,” Genevieve whispered into her ear, her lips curling into a victorious smirk.
Madison whimpered. Her chest was aflame, her nipples long since numbed from the endless grinding. Her arms, once defiant and forceful, now trembled behind Genevieve’s slick shoulders.
Still, she clung on—barely—as Genevieve began rolling her shoulders deliberately, sending a ripple through her chest that carried into Madison’s already crumbling defenses. Her breasts shifted with every movement, manipulated like clay under the dominance of Genevieve’s.
The referee hovered nearby, watching the brutal embrace stretch into its tenth minute—the longest and most grueling bear hug of the tournament.
Genevieve’s grip migrated, sliding down to Madison’s lower back, anchoring her completely. Madison’s head lolled forward, her cheek resting against Genevieve’s damp collarbone, her fingers twitching uselessly behind G’s back.
Their torsos were welded together. Their sweat-slick skin shimmered under the lights. Their breasts—red, throbbing, mashed flat—were still locked in an intimate, punishing war.
Then it happened.
Madison’s right breast gave way—slowly, shamefully.
What had once been a proud, round swell of soft resilience began to collapse under the punishing force of Genevieve’s crushing embrace. The firmness gave out first, melting into a mushy surrender. The tight skin lost its taut defiance. The once-springy tissue compressed flat, squishing helplessly beneath the grinding pressure. Madison’s arms, which had been locked in defiant resistance, sagged at the elbows. Her breath hitched high in her chest, then caught entirely. Her lips parted in a soft, shocked gasp.
And then the left followed—betraying her just as cruelly.
It crumpled inward like dough under a rolling pin, the proud curve vanishing in an instant of devastating pressure. The shape gave out, the tension gone and her breast mushroomed to the sides as Genevieve's breasts had broken her. Madison whimpered. She felt it all—the pain, the heat, the humiliating collapse.
Her breasts, once symbols of confidence and pride, were now squashed and broken. The tissue flattened and spread outward, bulging obscenely against the sides of Genevieve’s dominant chest. They were no longer fighting—just soft, yielding flesh, sagging and defeated.
Genevieve’s lips brushed her ear, hot and slow with victory.
“Ohhh, there we go,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You feel that, sweetheart? You feel my breasts flattening yours? That’s the sound of you giving in.”
Madison didn’t answer—she couldn’t. Her flattened breasts said it all.
Madison could only moan—a broken, guttural sound that came from somewhere deep in her chest. Her whole body quivered as the fight drained from her, leaving only shame, exhaustion, and the humiliating sensation of being smothered breast-to-breast by the woman who had clearly won.
Genevieve leaned in closer, her voice dripping with triumph. “Say it. Say it, and I’ll stop.”
But Madison couldn’t speak. She was too far gone—breasts crushed, pride shattered, arms limp at her sides.
And Genevieve knew it.
She held her tighter.
And smiled.
“I… I can’t—”
The crowd surged forward, phones out, screaming as Genevieve squeezed with one final, chest-to-chest crush.
“Say it,” she demanded.
Madison whimpered. “I submit…”
The bell rang.
The ref tugged at her, but Genevieve didn’t budge. Her arms stayed locked around Madison’s broken body, holding her close—possessively, deliberately. Victory alone wasn’t enough. She wanted Madison to feel it. Every tremble in Genevieve’s flexing biceps, every slow, merciless squeeze of their slick, battered bodies pressed together, was a message carved into flesh: You lost. I own you now.
Madison whimpered, too weak to resist, her breath hitching with every pulse of pressure. Her chest was crushed against Genevieve’s, their breasts mashed tightly together—hers yielding completely to the firmer, prouder pair that had just dominated her.
Genevieve leaned in and whispered something low and venomous into Madison’s ear, then gave one final, possessive squeeze—just cruel enough to make her rival cry out.
Then, with a final, vicious show of strength, Genevieve leaned back, hoisted Madison completely off her feet, and slammed her into the canvas with brutal force. The thud echoed like a gunshot.
It wasn’t just a finisher—it was a statement. A warning.
Genevieve rose slowly, panting, every breath causing her chest to rise and fall in sharp heaves. Her breasts were tight, red, streaked with marks—but still proud. She stepped back, letting the crowd drink it all in.
Madison lay sprawled on her back, limbs limp, her body utterly wrecked. Her once-perky 34Cs were swollen, discolored, and visibly losing their shape. Her chest barely rose. Her eyes blinked up into the lights, dazed, uncomprehending.
Her face twisted with disbelief, shame, and pain. She didn’t just lose—she’d been owned.
She stared up at Genevieve like a woman trying to make sense of her own defeat... and failing.
The crowd erupted. The arena roared with raw, frenzied energy—cheers, gasps, chants. They knew they’d just witnessed a massacre.
Genevieve didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.
Her body spoke for her.
POST-FIGHT HUMILIATION (5 Minutes)
Genevieve wasted no time.
She stepped forward, grabbed Madison by the hair, and yanked her to her feet. Madison was too exhausted to resist.
But Genevieve wasn’t done. Not even close. A quick knee to the abs folded Madison in half then yanked her head back throwing her to the mat.
With the crowd howling in anticipation, the Wannabee champion grabbed Madison by the ankles and dragged her limp form to the center of the ring like discarded prey. She straddled her for a moment, soaking in the spotlight, then crouched low, her fingers hooking under the band of Madison’s panties.
With one sharp yank, she ripped them off, baring Madison completely. The crowd erupted as Genevieve stood up, holding the delicate, lacy fabric high above her head like a trophy. Madison moaned weakly, face twisted in shame and helplessness.
Genevieve grinned and walked a full circle around the ring, dragging Madison by her sweat-matted hair, forcing her to crawl on her knees like a broken pet. The cameras flashed, the fans screamed—and Genevieve just smirked, waving Madison’s torn panties like a banner of war.
Then, with ruthless flair, she balled them up and stuffed them into Madison’s mouth. Madison gagged slightly, her muffled cries barely audible as Genevieve grabbed her jaw with one hand and leaned in close.
“Say it,” she hissed. “Say I broke your pathetic Barbie rack.”
Madison’s eyes fluttered. She didn’t want to. But the pressure… the shame… the crowd… She finally gave a soft, muffled moan of surrender.
Genevieve’s eyes gleamed.
With a guttural cry, Genevieve seized Madison by the shoulders and gave a violent, dominating tug—ripping her off balance and dragging her down hard onto the mat. The crowd gasped as Madison’s body bounced, the air knocked from her lungs. Genevieve straddled her within seconds, planting herself with unstoppable force atop her rival’s flattened chest. She grabbed both of Madison’s wrists and slammed them above her head, pinning them down brutally, her knuckles white with pressure.
Madison squirmed, but she was trapped—her arms stretched above her head, shoulders straining helplessly beneath Genevieve’s unyielding grip. Her legs kicked instinctively, trying to gain leverage, but Genevieve wasn’t done asserting dominance. With deliberate precision, she slid her legs between Madison’s and hooked them wide, forcing her opponent’s thighs apart in a punishing grapevine hold.
Genevieve pressed her body down slowly, relishing the shift in power as Madison’s hips lifted involuntarily with a gasp. Their torsos pressed tightly, Genevieve’s weight locking everything in place. Madison blinked up through a haze of disbelief and desperation, the painful stretch in her legs echoing the pressure building across her chest and shoulders.
“Nowhere to go,” Genevieve whispered coldly, her breath hot. “Now you feel it.”
Every inch of Madison's body was pinned and spread, her pride unraveling beneath Genevieve’s controlled assault.
And then, slowly, deliberately, Genevieve lowered herself.
Her hanging breasts—still firm, proud, and burning with victory—descended over Madison’s flushed, defeated face.
There was no rush. No mercy
.
Genevieve pressed in, her chest engulfing Madison face in a smother that was more than punishment—it was domination. Skin sealed to skin, her curves molded tightly over Madison’s mouth and nose, cutting off everything—air, sound, hope.
Madison bucked and twisted beneath her, legs kicking, hips thrusting in panic. Her muffled cries were lost under the smother, the crowd roaring over her struggles. Genevieve adjusted slightly, ensuring an airtight seal, grinding in deeper, pressing her chest with methodical cruelty.
This wasn’t just a final move. This was a message.
“I told you,” Genevieve growled, her voice vibrating through the smother. “You don’t humiliate me.”
Madison’s back scraped the mat in frantic, failing resistance. Her eyes fluttered wide, then wild, then heavy. Her arms pulled at nothing. Her body writhed—but it was all useless now.
The pressure stayed firm.
The smother deepened.
Genevieve’s expression was calm, focused—unforgiving.
She didn’t rise until Madison’s body went slack beneath her, her limbs dropping to the mat in trembling surrender.
Then, finally, with a slow exhale, Genevieve pushed up off her, standing tall over the wreckage she’d left behind.
And the arena exploded.
Madison bucked weakly, legs kicking once… then again… then still.
The crowd counted it out.
Genevieve finally stood, chest heaving in triumph, towering over her ruined opponent.
She bent down one last time, reached into the corner, and plucked up Madison’s crumpled bra. With a smirk, she twirled it on her finger like a victory banner before casually tossing it into the crowd.
“Put that in the trophy case,” she sneered.
The lights above gleamed on Genevieve’s sweat-slicked body as she stood tall, arms raised in undisputed triumph—unmatched, unchallenged, and utterly dominant.
The ring shook with energy as the Wannabees surged in, cheering wildly. They hoisted their champion up onto their shoulders, parading her around like a conquering warrior. The crowd roared, and the cameras flashed—but Genevieve only had eyes for one thing: Kylie and Natalie, watching from ringside, their expressions tight and unreadable.
Jayden Bartels stepped to the ropes, locking eyes with Kylie. “So much for your soft little loser,” she sneered, her voice venomous and victorious. “We’re just getting started, sunshine.”
Kylie bristled, her jaw tightening—but she said nothing. Natalie folded her arms, the wheels already turning behind her glare.
This wasn’t just a win. It was a statement.
The Wannabees weren’t flukes or underdogs. They could stand breast to breast with anyone in that ring—and come out on top. The tides had turned, and now Kylie and Natalie were being forced to take notice.
This war wasn’t over.
It was only just beginning.
Written by the Badass Barbies.